


Something More

by Frostwells



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Bonding, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, King of the Delta Blues, Older Man/Younger Woman, Post 02x06, Relationship - Garcy - Freeform, Romance, Set from 02x04 to 02x06, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 23:24:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14412729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostwells/pseuds/Frostwells
Summary: Lucy didn't know what to make of her eccentric relationship with Flynn. He was a time traveler turned rogue, a fugitive from the American Government, a terrorist throughout time. Yet, as she continued living with him, there was more to him than she initially perceived. Hell, maybe more to them.





	Something More

**Author's Note:**

> Okay...I'm pretty sure 02x06 was not real. I'm pretty sure I hallucinated the whole thing. All the interactions, moments, bonding...THE END SCENE. It's all fake, right? Gods, I was crying for like three hours because we were fed so well.
> 
> I've written this fic in Lucy's POV about her developing relationship with Flynn.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Timeless. OTHERWISE THE END SCENE WOULD'VE PLAYED OUT A LITTLE DIFFERENTLY IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.  
> Claimer: I do own all my grammatical mistakes. My work is, as always, unbetaed and majority of the time, my coffee-induced energy will occasionally make me miss errors here and there, maybe everywhere.

Everyone described him as brusque, aggressive, eccentric, suave, and everyone’s favourite – a complete dick. Yet, the historian knew Garcia Flynn was so much more than “what meets the eye”, his personality extending beyond the “terrorist” persona the NSA branded him to be. From the very moment she laid eyes on him amidst the burning flames and chaos of the Hindenburg explosion, Lucy knew he was just a broken, desperate man.

As she chased him throughout time, despite all the threats, Lucy knew that Flynn would never kill her. She meant too much to him, their bond woven together through a leather bound journal that she will eventually write and give to him in her future, his past. Her words was his bible, his saviour, and he wasn’t about to murder her simply because they stood on the opposite sides of this invisible war. Flynn had told her that a future version of her promised him that he and Lucy would work together and he was banking on it. A part of Lucy also didn’t doubt it.

Even seeing Flynn doing something so simple as making coffee in their kitchen safe house made her wonder how much the time bandit knew about her and what she had written down already occurred. If someone had told her – if _Flynn_ himself told her - that she’d break him out of jail so they could live and time travel together, Lucy would’ve thrown an encyclopedia directly at their faces.

“Coffee?” Flynn would ask her with a small smile when she’d stared at him unabashedly, still finding the whole living together situation surreal.

“No. No, thank you,” she would say back, his deep, Croatian brogue snapping her out of her stupor. His smile would remain in place as he past her but not before his arm would brush alongside hers despite the vast space in the kitchen.

While the other crewmembers were still weary of the terrorist, the more Lucy saw Flynn wandering around safe house, the more Lucy felt comfortable with him. There was no apprehension or tepidness she felt in the pit of her stomach every time they encountered at an impasse somewhere in the past. They just acted amicably in each other’s presence, much to her relief.

Though, as days turned into weeks and then into months, there had been a shift in their relationship. The way Flynn would always seemingly be near her, that indicated he’d felt it too.

If Lucy had to pinpoint the exact moment, she would say it was the start of the Salem mission. The way the older man referred to her as his wife and then tenderly fasting her seatbelt on the Lifeboat, all these actions screamed unorthodox for Flynn. Maybe after she and her boys returned from 1960s Paramount, perhaps it was not only the resurrection of Wyatt’s supposedly deceased wife that changed the timeline. There was a chance Flynn’s personality altered as well. Not that Lucy was complaining about it.

Since their return, Flynn had been constantly near Lucy. Even the moment when they exited the Lifeboat from Salem, there was no logical reasoning why he held her and escorted her down the ladder. She had injured arm, not her legs. A thought niggled in the back in her mind that possibly, Flynn was simply being overprotective of her – or even jealous. But it was just a fleeting thought that wasn’t substantial and didn’t hold any merit.

Nevertheless, Lucy trusted her gut and her gut was screaming at her that Flynn had changed.

And she was right.

Upon her return from Salem, it was Jiya who watched and took care of Lucy’s wounds. But in the night, Flynn would take over the girl’s position and situated himself beside the historian on a wooden stool.

“Flynn?” Lucy breathed out, her voice all raspy when she came to. “What are –”

He’d only hushed her and prompted her to go back to bed.   

As she slipped in and out of her conscious, Lucy would recall some instances where Flynn changed her bloodied bandages and reapplied the antibiotic cream on the gash. He’d even placed a damp, cool hand towel on her forehead to help aid with her fever. The next time she woke, it was Jiya’s face that peered down at her, her brows knitted tightly in concentration as she re-examined the fresh bandages.

“Where’s…?”

Seeing Lucy attempt to sit up, the young engineer gently pushed her back down on the bed. “Wyatt? On a mission with Rufus and Flynn,” she explained kindly.

That wasn’t what she was going to inquire but Lucy didn’t have the energy to correct her. At least, she had answered the question anyways. When she was no longer bedridden, Lucy confronted Flynn about it. The older time traveller only smile at her enigmatically, causing the brunette to wonder if it was her fever-induced mind that made her hallucinate the whole thing.

Not only was she physically fatigued, seeing Jessica in the kitchenette made Lucy remember that she’s living in an alternate timeline; one where Jessica was never killed on the highway and is still married to Wyatt. A tiny part of her had hoped that the he’d choose her over his wife but the more rational part of her destroyed that glimmer of expectation. He loved his wife. He fought for her. Travelled in time and risked history for her. A one night stand wouldn’t change that.

But that didn’t mean it hurt like a bitch.

She didn’t know what hurt more; the fact she thought Wyatt was killed in the Mason Industries explosion for six weeks while she was held prisoner, or that he was alive and so was his wife. If she could, Lucy would’ve avoided Wyatt until the end of their days if it meant not addressing the elephant in the room. If she can live through the fact she’s a Rittenhouse royalty and that her own mother tried to have her executed in Salem, then Lucy can survive anything.

However, mending a broken heart through alcohol sounded appealing. And it certainly worked.

For a while.

After Wyatt and Lucy’s confrontation in the corridor about where they stand, Lucy couldn’t be bothered with any more social interactions for the day. She wanted to wallow up in her self-pity. Imagine her surprise when Flynn approached her in his grey hoodie and beige slacks, wordlessly offering her beer and his company, if she’d have him.

He must’ve overheard their conversation. That was the only plausible explanation she can conjure. Why else would he not mock her for her depression if not for that? Yet, Lucy was grateful for him; the shared body heat, the smell of cheap soap and beer, and a scent that was uniquely Flynn, his presence reassured her that despite the situation, she wasn’t alone. It was something she desperately needed but will never admit it, let alone to him.

From that moment thereon, Flynn had been significantly nicer to her (and much crueler to Wyatt than the norm). He’d always bid her good morning and goodnight, no matter how busy or tired they’d be. On the rare occasion, he’d even wordlessly greet her back after a mission. Flynn would reach for her and place a hand on the crook of her elbow as he helped her off the ladder, though there was absolutely no need. Lucy surmised this was his way of reassuring himself about her well-being. After all, he still had to appear like a complete jackass in front of Rufus and Wyatt. To maintain appearances and all.

But that didn’t mean Lucy missed the warm look in Flynn’s olive eyes every time she didn’t shy away from him.

Even when Flynn helped her off the Lifeboat in 1936, Texas, the middle of the Great Depression, he hoisted her as if she weighed nothing – as if he had done to her this plenty of times before. He even looked pleased that Lucy trusted him to do something simple as this.

Another thing the former Stanford professor noticed about Flynn was that when it was just the two of them alone, or when no one was watching, he’d appeared to be tactile that normal – hell, even more affectionate. He’d place a hand on the small of her back, or a brief touch on her forearm when he had to momentarily part from her.

He’d even go as far as to try to cheer her up. Make her smile.

“I think it’s time I levelled with you, Lucy.” Her heart stopped in her chest at the seriousness in his tone but was immediately relieved when his voice regained his usual lightness. “I’m _way_ more fun on these missions than Wyatt, right?”

She couldn’t help but laugh lightly at that, shaking her head slightly in disbelief; Flynn perked up and grin broadly at her reaction. Lucy stood up from her seat. “You’re delusional,” she stated without malice, her honeyed eyes dancing in mirth.

Flynn followed her to the open bedroom and leaned against the doorframe, shuffling his feet against the carpeted floor. “Must be… _awkward_ between you two.”

Lucy shook her head, refusing to turn around and look up at him. She was not having this conversation with him. Not now, not ever. It was one thing being comfortable in his company, but that did not mean they were close enough for her to share her feelings.

“It’s not awkward between us,” she stated.

She wished Flynn would drop it there. Respect her privacy. But unfortunately for her, he wasn’t that forgiving. “Wyatt and Rufus giggling like schoolboys about Wyatt’s late night activities with Jessica. That wasn’t awkward?” has asked, his eyebrows raised, challenging her; baiting her. 

Why didn’t it surprise her that of course Flynn knew about that conversation? It only transpired this morning (or rather, the morning of 2018), and she knew for a fact he wasn’t there in the washroom. The man probably hid in the shadows, quietly observing everything, everyone. Most likely to use it as blackmail in the future date.

“Nope,” she emphatically responded.

“So, that’s not why you secretly keep a bottle of vodka under your bed?”

That got her attention. _How the hell does he know about that?_

Lucy fell silent for a moment before she turned around, unblinking. “Are you spying on me?” she asked, her voice dangerously low.

“No. I do remember reading about it in your journal.” He lifted his head up from the wooden floor to meet her skeptical gaze. “Lucy, when you gave me that book –”

“Which may or not be true,” she interjected, to which Flynn’s eyes hardened. She remained seated as she busied herself by sliding on her silk, white gloves, ignoring the approaching steps.

Flynn’s face contorted. “No. You gave it to _me._ You wanted _me_ to read it and I _did._ Look, at first, all I cared was that it was a tool to take down Rittenhouse. But the more I read it, the longer I stayed with it, the more I felt like I knew you. _Understood_ you,” Flynn explained, wanting her to understand, but her look of aloofness added on to his apparent agitation. “Lucy – damn it – sometimes, I feel like I know you better than you know yourself.”

She snapped. “What do you want from me, Flynn?” Lucy bit back, reveling at the look of Flynn flinching from her sudden, sharp tone. “You don’t know me.”

How could he claim to know her when he in reality, he didn’t? He only knew the future version of Lucy; her personality, behaviour, thoughts - all of that was written by a person that had yet to exist, thus creating an alternate copy of the person that exists in this moment. Flynn had conjured up this god-like version of Lucy and tried convincing her that they’re all in the same person. But how could he say that when this Lucy and future Lucy did not even co-exist? Older her definitely had more experiences and wisdom written down her journal that shaped her into the imagery Flynn had in his head.

She watched him with steely eyes as he opened his mouth, wanting to tell her exactly what he wanted from her. But no words came out. Only sadness appeared was etched on his features, his shoulder sagged in defeat. 

Flynn swallowed and gave her a weak smile. “Well…” he started before his smiled slipped. “I guess we’re having our own ‘awkward moment’ right now.”

That was the end of discussion. Yet, Lucy couldn’t help but feel heart chest constrict ever so slightly at the look of hurt on Flynn’s face. He had been nothing but kind to her the moment he moved in with them. He had cared for her in the medical bay when she was injured. He offered his presence as a source of comfort when she was emotionally unstable. He had always protected her. 

Garcia Flynn had always cared for her.

The whole silent comforting, this was his own way of showing his care and concerns for Lucy. But if she knew anything from him, he was no coddler. He may have indulged her for a bit but he’s pushing her to get out of this depression. To rise above it because he knew that she’s better than this. It was only a matter of time Lucy believed it herself.

Until she’s ready, he’d be there for her.

 x

Of all things Garcia Flynn was, she never once pegged him to be a hummer. He didn’t seem to be the type to nonchalantly hum a mid-1930s tune, let alone seem comfortable to do that in her presence. Then again, she had to keep constantly reminding herself that he’s trying to be more amiable (at least, when it was concerning her).

“My wife used to sing this song.” When she didn’t dignify that with a response, he continued. “You’re right, Lucy. I don’t know you. I guess what I was trying to say back there is that I’d _like_ to get to know you. But I’d understand if you don’t want that.”

Lucy glanced up at him in surprise, clearly not expecting Flynn to say that that. The man she knew was stubborn, obnoxious even, not wanting to admit any faults, especially in an argument. But here he was, trying to make amends from their argument that transpired earlier that evening.

As she regarded him with a curious gaze, she could tell that confessing that must’ve been difficult for him. Flynn’s head was tilted down ever so slightly and his shoulders squared in defense, as if he was expecting her to reject him. He was willing to get to know _this_ Lucy – to know the woman sitting beside him _–_ rather than assuming what he already _knew_ about her based on her journal alone. How could she say to no to him when he was clearly trying to make an effort?

“My mother used to sing this song too,” Lucy admitted softly, a wave of nostalgia washing over her. Her _other_ mother – the mother that was sick and loved both her and Amy. She couldn’t vouch of this timeline’s Carol “Rittenhouse” Preston did the same thing.

Flynn looked at her and the corner of his lips quirked up. She’s letting him in. “Lorena would lie on the couch, humming it. Actually, it used to bother me.” He scoffed softly at the memory before chuckling. “Well, it’s the little details like that which I missed the most. The pranks you pulled, her icy feet at night, the smell of her hair.”

Lucy could relate. “My sister – she had this...strawberry scented shampoo. When we were little, she would get scared at night so she’d crawl into my bed and snuggle into me, her hair right up against my nose.” She smiled softly. “I dream all night about milkshakes.”

“I never intended that to happen,” Flynn stated, his face full of remorse. “Your sister disappearing, I-I never wanted to hurt you, Lucy.”

She knew that, of course. Sure, their encounter and actions back 1937 may have drastically altered the timeline to the point where Amy was erased, and her mother was miraculously cured of cancer, but not once did Lucy ever blame Flynn for it. 

“We’ll never get back the people we love, will we?”

“Only if we give up hope,” he said with conviction in his voice. “I know, somehow, someway, we’ll save the people we love.”

Lucy adjusted her position so she could face him directly, her arm slung across the armrest. “You knew from my journal that mother sang that song, didn’t you?” It was more of a statement rather than question but the way she smiled, it wasn’t an accusation. Her smile broadened when Flynn squirmed uncomfortably under her scrutiny, unsure of what was the correct answer.

Flynn tentatively nodded before saying, “You should know the Lucy in that journal. She’s very...” He paused, trying to figure out the right words to say but he only emphasized, “ _Very_ impressive.”

What he meant by that exactly, Lucy assumed that’s open for interpretation.

X

In this line of work, death should be expected. Whether it be one of their own or their enemies. Yet, when Wyatt pulled her aside and informed her that her mother escaped the raid, Lucy didn’t know what to feel or what to expect. Logically and definitely emotionally as well, she should be glad that her mother lived to see another day. After all, Carol Preston was still her _mother._ But she didn’t. She just felt...indifferent about it.

“What about Flynn?” Wyatt inquired with a smug smile, jutting his head towards her. “Did you keep him on a short leash?”

“He was actually great,” Lucy confessed truthfully, a small smile playing on her lips, recalling their shared moments in the car, and how happy he was. “He...really came through.”

Wyatt didn’t look too pleased at her response. “Huh. What happened?”

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow,” she deflected, not really in the mood to ruin this high she was on. “I’m sure Jessica’s worried sick.”

“Lucy, c’mon,” the younger man prompted. “I wanna know.”

She only shook her head. “Go. Be with Jessica.” Before Wyatt could protest, she turned around and made a beeline to her room (in this case, the living room), effectively ending the conversation.

Seeing Wyatt still brought up this pang in her chest, and even mentioning his wife hurt even more. But that wasn’t what caused Lucy to turn tail and run, no. It was the fact the pain was less intense than this morning and she couldn’t help but think that was thanks to her newfound relationship with Flynn.

Lucy lounged on the sofa, dressed in her plaid shirt and jeans. It surprised her that this was her revelation; that she’s slowly, but surely, moving on from her heartbreak. She glanced at the bottle of vodka which sat on her tabletop enticingly and the empty, old-fashioned glass.

This was not going to be another one of those nights where she drank her sorrows away.

Her mind set, Lucy grabbed the bottle and made her way to the corridor. As she trudged down the dim hallway, illuminated by the poor fluorescent lighting overhead, she stopped at a rusted metal door, no doubt worn down from the lack of maintenance. She inhaled and rapt on the door.

The door opened slowly, almost cautiously. Yet, as Flynn peered down at her, his expression was anything but. As she lifted her head to look at him, her heart thudded in her chest. If he was surprised to see her at his door, he didn’t show it. The older man looked down at Lucy tenderly, his eyes hooded, and lips pursed. She’d never seen this look on his face before.

They stared at each for a few seconds, wordlessly communicating with each just through their eyes just like they had done the other night. Flynn glanced at the bottle in her hand, and smiled, chucking softly. Taking that as an invitation, Lucy pushed herself of the wall and pivoted herself into his bedroom. He extended his arm towards his room so she wouldn’t crash into him and shut the door with a loud _clank_.

Flynn remained at the doorway as he amusingly watched Lucy plopped down unceremoniously onto his bed. She shook the bottle, the contents sashaying, as she silently offered him to join her. He followed suit and sat down beside her, but not before grabbing two old-fashioned glasses from his shelf. He took the bottle from her and poured the contents into the cup with ease.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Flynn teased before he turned somber. “Did Wyatt do something again?”

She raised an eyebrow, taking the offered glass from her hand. “Can’t I just enjoy a drink with you?” she asked.

“Considering this is the first time you sought me out for something other than business, I find it hard to believe that this is mere a social call.”

Lucy had to process that for a moment. Was it really the first time she ever approached him that didn’t involve Rittenhouse or him murdering historical figures in America? As she drew a blank, she realized this really the first time she sought Flynn out on just... _because._

“Do you want me to go?” Lucy pointed towards the rusted door, “Because I will. I’ll enjoy this bottle of vodka myself.”

Flynn waved a hand noncommittally. “I was just wondering is all. No need to be so...testy, Lucy,” he teased. They clinked their glasses together and downed the alcohol in one shot, both of them letting out a harsh rasp as it burned their throats before morphing into a warm fire in the pits of their stomachs.

“Why do you always compare yourself to Wyatt, Flynn?” Lucy asked and Flynn nearly choked on his drink. “I mean, you asked if Wyatt had done that, done this, who is more fun on missions.”

Placing his cup on the nightstand, he leaned back into the sofa and crossed his arms, a look of amusement apparent on his face. All proof of being caught off guard was nowhere to be seen. “Why do you think, Lucy?”

She tilted her head, not sure if she heard him correctly. “Sorry?”

“I’m asking you why you think I keep comparing myself to that incompetent man-boy,” Flynn clarified.

“To be a better replacement and asset so Agent Christopher will keep sending you on missions?”

Flynn curled his lip and swayed his head sideways. “Well, yes. But that’s not the answer.”

The brunette furrowed her brow in confusion, not sure of any other possible answer she can conjure. “Then, what is it?”

“Because he made you happy.” The confession came as an icy shock to Lucy and the way he looked at her, Flynn didn’t blame her for her reaction. “Like you said, I don’t know you. Wyatt does. And you two were… _intimate_ with each other. While you and I aren’t like that with each other, I do want to know what makes you happy and what doesn’t make you happy.”

Lucy was rendered speechless at the truth. Of course she believed Flynn when he admitted that he wanted to get to know her better back in 1936. But what she didn’t believe was that he was actually willing to try and how serious he was about her – about them.

He shifted his eyes downcast. “I didn’t know what was the best...approach to this. It’s all so new to me. I thought by seeing what Wyatt did to make you smile, I thought I can recreate it – to be better a person than him.”

Bolden by the vodka, Lucy raised a hand and cupped his cheek, making him look at her. He felt warm under her touch, the slight five o’clock shadow tickling her palm. Surprise flickered in his eyes, as if he never expected her to touch him so...kindly. Flynn’s expression quickly morphed into fondness as he leaned into her touch, nuzzling her hand ever so slightly. She felt the chapness of his lips brush against the curve of her thumb in a feathered kiss.

“Flynn,” Lucy began before shaking her head. “No – _Garcia_. You don’t have to copy anyone just to figure out my likes and dislikes. I’ll tell you myself. All you gotta do is ask.” Flynn closed his eyes, a look of relief flooding his features. “And besides, I already like you as you are. As Garcia Flynn; former NSA agent turned terrorist turned ally...turned into friend. ”

The couple remained silent for a moment, allowing Flynn to process the truth of her words. She did mean every single thing. Lucy liked him just the way he was. There was no need to compare himself to Wyatt Logan since they were both two completely different men. And she cared for each man differently. She may have been deeply infatuated with Wyatt – maybe in love – but this bond she shared with Flynn, it was so _uniquely_ theirs; bonded through time and a leather-bound journal that cannot be duplicated.   

Lucy stroked his cheek with the pad of thumb rhythmically, and if she listened closely, she swore she heard Flynn purring like a cat; basking in the affection he was so desperately craved after trudging down a lonely, cold path. But she saved him by finally allowing them to work together – to _be_ together.

Flynn surprised her by leaning towards her until his head rested against her chest, her arms askew.

“Lucy,” he murmured and her heart broke at the sound of his voice. When was the last time he was held like this? To have someone show him kindness, comfort and compassion? Placing her cup beside his own on the nightstand, Lucy wrapped her arms around his much larger frame.

“Stay with me, Lucy,” Flynn pleaded. “Please.”

She hushed him as she caressed his back soothingly. “I’m not planning on leaving, Garcia,” she promised and she felt him relaxed at the sound of his given name.

The brunette held Flynn closely for a moment, letting him rest in this moment of rare peace. After a few minutes, she gently pushed him off her chest and watched as his eyes fluttered open, glazed with adoration and affection for the woman before him.

“Tell anyone about this and I won’t be held responsible about their missing bodies,” he joked.

_Ah, there’s the Flynn I know._

Lucy scoffed slightly at the empty threat. Not that anyone would believe her that Flynn was a cuddler anyways.

“To answer your question from early,” Lucy started, distraction herself by pouring herself another glass, and handing him his, “about if Wyatt did something to me, it’s a yes and no.”

“Well. That’s definitely a clear and precise answer,” Flynn said sarcastically and Lucy bumped his shoulder with hers. He laughed at that and she couldn’t help but smile back at how more relaxed they are.  

“Wyatt didn’t do anything, per se,” she clarified, which was the truth. “It’s just...it finally sunk in that he has Jessica back. And I can’t keep moping around hoping he’d change his mind.”

He raised a hand and gestured to the bottle. “And that’s why you’re still drinking.”

Lucy fought the urge to roll her eyes but failed. “I’m drinking not because I’m still heartbroken.” She looked at Flynn directly, her gaze unwavering. “I’m drinking to celebrate...something new.”

His curiosity piqued at that. “Something new?” he parroted, shifting his body to face her fully.

Never in her wildest dreams would she imagine this scenario; she and Flynn drinking in his room, on his bed...together. After chasing the time bandit throughout time, trying to stop murdering historical figures, if it weren’t for his adamant persistence about them working together, they would’ve never ended up like this; happy, content...exploring something new with each other.

Lucy lifted her cup in a toast, signalling him to do the same.

“To us. To this new relationship.”

“And maybe something more,” Flynn added hopefully to which she nodded.

They clinked their glasses.

“And maybe something more.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudos to show your appreciation. It really boosts my low, self-esteem as a writer. If you want to go the extra mile, please also leave a comment! Comments are absolute best! Thank you!


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